


Helping Hand

by Best_Kind_of_Insanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Best_Kind_of_Insanity/pseuds/Best_Kind_of_Insanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn’t want to admit why he’s always so aware of the other Gryffindor’s whereabouts, and passions, and smile and- Well, alright. He knows all too well why he does but it doesn't matter. It’s not like he’d ever be stupid enough to tell the older guy about the strange fuzzy feeling he gets in his stomach when the Captain looks at him or that his small innocent touches have grown into excellent wanking material.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“And Potter catches the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!!”

While Harry has felt his own hand, close around the small little fluttering ball worth one-hundred and fifty points, it doesn’t quite feel like a victory. Not until he turns towards his team mates and watches them cheer and flash him grateful smiles. Despite how wonderful it is to be on a broom and being able to actually fly, the thing he likes the most about Quidditch is the fact that it’s a team sport. 

Whenever he feels like he might not be able to catch the snitch, he reminds himself that there are six other people counting on him to end the game in their favour. It feels nice having these people rely on him, for something he can actually control and is good at. Not for something stupid like being the Boy-Who-Lived. 

“Good job, Harry!” A strong hand slaps him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble a bit but Oliver Wood doesn’t seem to notice as he smiles happily at the young Seeker.

It also helps that being on the Gryffindor Quidditch team comes with praise from the Captain whenever he manages to catch the snitch. Harry always feels on top of the world whenever their Keeper compliments them. 

“Thanks, Wood,” He blushes, embarrassedly. 

“Oh, come on, Harry,” The older Gryffindor rolls his eyes at his shy team mate. “I’ve told you many times now to just call me Oliver. You’ve been on the team long enough to be on first-name basis, wouldn’t you agree?”

Harry nods but to himself he thinks that no, he’s doesn’t think it’s alright to call him by his first name. No one else on the team does – calling someone by their last name sounds more respectful anyway, he thinks – and he finds it strange that Wood only insists Harry calls him Oliver. He’s never heard him say it to anyone else. 

“I see you’re persistent,” Wood laughs and punches him amicably on the back.

Instead of making him stumble once more, the hit makes him wince. He hadn’t expected for that to hurt. It’s not as though his Captain had hit him hard. 

“You alright, Harry?” Oliver Wood frowns worriedly.

“Yeah,” Harry shrugs but that kind of hurts as well. “I guess that hit to the stands was harder than I thought.”

That stupid Slytherin Beater had slammed him right into them when he had flown by. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time since he had been too busy chasing after the snitch but now that the game is over, he can tell that his back and shoulder might turn blue. 

“It’s probably just bruised,” The older guy gently touches Harry’s shoulder again to estimate the damage. “Though it would be wise to see madam Pomfrey, just to be sure.”

“I will,” He nods, a bit surprised by how the other boy’s touch doesn’t feel all that weird. Normally, Harry’s not too good with physical contact, not even when Hermione wants to give him a comforting hug. 

“But first, go take a shower. You stink,” He laughs.

Though the older guy clearly meant it as a joke, on his way to the changing rooms Harry can’t help but wonder if perhaps he does stink. He subtly tries to sniff his arm pit, only to come to the conclusion that his odour isn’t exactly squeaky clean. Perhaps he should do a very thorough scrubbing in the shower, just to make sure he’s not bothering anyone around him with his body odour. 

His good hygiene intention strands as soon as he sits down in the changing room and he can’t manage to take off his shirt. His shoulder and back are too strained to get undressed without seriously hurting himself. 

Harry panics and sits on the bench for a while, watching his other team mates entering and exiting the showers, too embarrassed to let anyone know he’s too weak to take off his own shirt. The hit can’t possibly have been that bad, right?

He waits for everyone else to take a shower, get dressed and leave the changing rooms before he dares to take out his wand and vanish his clothes. He’ll worry about the dressing part later. 

While the showers are empty, Harry knows that not everyone has taken one yet. Oliver Wood hasn’t been in the changing room yet, probably already trying to figure out how to improve their game. Harry doesn’t want to admit why he’s always so aware of the other Gryffindor’s whereabouts, and passions, and smile and-

Well, alright. He knows all too well why he does but it’s nothing to be alarmed by. At first he was. When Harry first realised he might be harbouring a bit of a crush on the handsome Keeper, he freaked out. Told himself he was even more of an abomination than the Dudleys always said he was. But after an awkward but inspiring talk with Hermione, he realised that these feelings are natural. Sure, most of the other guys have them about girls but Harry’s tastes have always been a bit peculiar. Besides, no one needs to know anyway. It’s not like he’d ever be stupid enough to tell the older guy about the strange fuzzy feeling he gets in his stomach when the Captain looks at him or that his small innocent touches have grown into excellent wanking material.

Anyway, Harry’s slight obsession with the guy means he also knows that he won’t be returning any time soon, probably too busy with writing down new game plans. The showers are all Harry’s. 

As he enters the shower and feels the water thrash down on his back, he can’t help but let out a groan. While the water is soothing on his aching shoulder, it also informs him that he’s in worse shape than he thought. Perhaps he will follow Wood’s advice and go visit madam Pomfrey afterwards. But the biggest problem of the painful back and shoulder is that he can’t use this opportunity to take care of his painfully aching cock. Thoughts of Oliver Wood have always been able to get him hard in record time. He only needs to envision that smile, those dimples, his lean muscles that you can almost see through the thick layers of Quidditch Equipment, those abs Harry has occasionally gotten a glimpse of in the shower that take all of his willpower to not get an erection right there, in front of the entire team.

Though he always feels a bit dirty stroking himself while thinking of the older Gryffindor, he really wishes he could treat himself to a good wank session right now. It would be the perfect moment as there is no one around right now, a privilege you don’t always get in a dorm room with four other teenage boys. 

But as soon as he grabs his cock and moves his hand up and down, pain shoots right up his shoulder and everything attached to it. He immediately drops his hand even though his erection is practically begging to be taken care off. 

“Fuck,” He whines. 

Is he seriously not allowed to have a peaceful wank after the horrible game he just had to endure? Come on, he deserves it!

“Harry?” An unexpected voice rings through the locker room. “Are you alright?”

Holy shit! What the hell is Oliver Wood doing here right now? He should be going over his strategy right now, that’s supposed to keep him occupied for hours! What’s he doing in here? Oh Merlin, he’s not going to take a shower, is he? He’ll come in here and see Harry sporting a massive – well, okay, it’s not really that big – erection. It will get all awkward and then – Fuck! What if Oliver knows he’s the cause of it? After all, Harry doesn’t think he’s been too good at hiding it. He’ll be miserable at it when the guy catches him in the shower with a hard one. He has to get out of here. Fuck taking a shower, he hasn’t even had the time yet to soap himself up. He’ll just finish up in the dorm bathroom. He quickly needs to grab his things, get dressed and-

“Harry?”

Too late. Oliver sounds like he’s standing right at the entrance of the group shower. Harry tenses up completely, still facing the wall, afraid that if he’ll turn around, the other guy will notice his little problem. Okay, new plan. He’ll just stay like this until Wood has taken a shower and left again. He’s always quick about it. 

“Bloody hell!”

Oh, crap. Did he notice? Did he see? Is he totally disgusted by Harry right now? Will he-

“Your shoulder is purple,” Harry can hear the other one’s bare footsteps on the tiles, approaching him. Why is he approaching him?! “Fuck, that looks like it hurts, Harry. Does it?”

The Keeper is standing so close to the young Seeker that if Harry were to take a step back, he’d be back to chest with him. Why is he standing so close?

Harry flinches when Oliver suddenly puts his hand on the painful shoulder.

“Sorry,” Oliver pulls back his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

Actually, he didn’t. The shoulder is, of course, pretty sore but the touch had been gentle and soothing, not at all painful like when Harry tried to use his shoulder. 

“No,” Harry forces out. “you didn’t.”

Harry nearly moans when the hand returns, even gentler than before, rubbing circles on his shoulder so carefully, as if he might break if too much pressure is applied. 

“I didn’t realise it was this bad,” Oliver says, so close to Harry, he can feel his breath ghosting over his shoulder. Harry thought Oliver was a lot taller than him but it seems the younger boy has made up for the difference this last year and now he’s only a couple of inches shorter than his Captain. 

“The bruise goes all the way to you clavicle.”

Harry realises too late that Oliver leans forward when he says this, to peek at his front. But he realises all too well when the other guy has glanced down and noticed his erection. Which has only gotten worse with Wood’s close proximity. 

He holds his breath as he waits for the other one to say something, tease him, mock him, maybe even call him gross. The longer they stand there in silence, Harry close to tears, and Oliver still keeping his hand on his shoulder, the more Harry feels he might faint from embarrassment.

He can’t help but feel his heart drop when Oliver pulls back his hand and leaves him feeling alone and cold, despite the hot water still streaming down on him. Perhaps it’s better this way. Oliver will just leave and they’ll pretend nothing happened. They’ll never speak of it again and then-

But all of a sudden the hand returns, just not to Harry’s shoulder. The dark-haired boy gasps out loud as he feels a hand that is not his own wrap around his cock with a firm grip. 

“Wha- what are you doing?!” Harry shrieks. 

“Helping you out,” The husky voice breathes into his ear and if it was possible, he would have gotten even harder.

Harry moans unwillingly as Oliver starts moving his hand up and down at an excruciatingly slow pace. 

“You clearly have a problem,” Oliver gives a particularly harsh tug with his right hand while his left hand reaches towards the shelf to grab the shower gel. 

“I can’t imagine you being able to take care of it yourself, what with that purple shoulder of yours,” He trickles soap down onto Harry’s cock to smoothen his hand movements. Oliver’s hand glides with ease over his dick with the new lubrication and it’s fucking glorious. “So I’m lending you a hand.”

“Wh –aah – do – mmh-“ Harry feels like he should protest, that this is all just a little weird but the hand job feels so good, the words come out all jumbled.  
Having only known the pleasure of his own hand until now, Harry’s quickly losing his cool under Wood’s ministrations. He can hardly remember why he thought he should be fighting this in the first place. As Harry surrenders himself to the older boy’s touch, Oliver sneaks his free arm around his waist and pulls him closer to him. 

With his back to Oliver’s chest and firmly in his grasp, Harry slumps backwards and rest his heavy head on the shoulder behind him. The movement exposes his throat and Oliver wastes no time in licking and sucking it. In his arms, Harry feels in heaven and he’s not even trying to suppress the little moans tumbling out of his mouth.

“That’s it, Harry,” Oliver breathes into his neck. “Just relax. Let me take care of you. I can make you feel so good.”

He’s already making him feel amazing but Harry is too far past the point of forming sentences to tell him this. Instead he hums and starts pushing his hips forward to slide his cock in and out of Oliver’s fist. 

The other hand travels up higher to tweak one of his nipples and its sensitivity is an indicator that it won’t take that long for Harry to reach his peak.

“I – I…”

But how is he supposed to let the other guy know that when he can barely talk anymore?

“It’s okay. You’re close, I know.” The hand on his cock picks up the pace and Harry gladly follows by rolling his hips back and forth. “I’ll make you come, baby.” The left hand is pulling at his nipple harshly but it’s so fucking good. “Relax, just let it all go. I’ve got you, Harry, I’ve got you.” 

It’s a fantasy come through as Harry tenses up in Oliver’s embrace right before reaching his orgasm. He throws back his head once more, whines out ‘Oliver’ and curls his toes. Wood’s hand continues to furiously move up and down his shaft when his cock shoots thick ribbons of white spunk onto the shower tiles.

Oliver allows Harry to come down from this mind-blowing high his orgasm has put him in and continues to stroke his chest with his left hand. It is only when Harry goes completely limp in his embrace that the older guy pulls away. 

“Do get that shoulder looked after, Harry,” Oliver presses a final kiss to Harry’s shoulder and moves away, leaving the shoulders and leaving the younger boy wondering how the hell that just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Harry was as brave a Gryffindor as his friends claim him to be, he would just confront the other guy about what happened but a Basilisk is nothing compared to admitting his attraction for Oliver Wood out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, I wasn't done with this pairing just yet.

Harry doesn’t know how to behave around Oliver anymore. He’s always been somewhat awkward around the older Gryffindor but that term doesn’t even cover it anymore. Since that mind-blowing encounter in the showers, Harry has no idea how to act around the guy. He stutters and stumbles and drops things, can’t catch the snitch when the Captain is around, can barely sit on his broom, don’t even expect him to hold up a conversation. He’s a mess. 

And the worst part? Oliver Wood knows. He smiles when Harry blushes and can’t answer the simplest of questions. Ruffles his hair when Harry failed to catch the snitch during practice even though he should really be yelling at him. Lets out a deep chuckle when Harry’s stuff falls out his bag in his rush to leave the locker room. 

If Harry was as brave a Gryffindor as his friends claim him to be, he would just confront the other guy about what happened but a Basilisk is nothing compared to admitting his attraction for Oliver Wood out loud. 

It’s been three weeks since Harry had the most body-wrecking orgasm ever – also the only one he ever had thanks to another person – and even though it has made everything so uncomfortable now, he can’t possibly regret it. The dreams of Oliver Wood caressing his body and urging him towards release are no longer fantasy. His crush really did touch him like that, really did give him a hand job in the showers.

_That’s it, Harry. Just relax. Let me take care of you. I can make you feel so good._

Merlin, that voice haunts him in his sleep. That gruff voice telling him how great he can make Harry feel. And he did. Merlin, he really did. Harry has tried to replicate that wonderful feeling but his own hands just don’t do the trick anymore, now that he’s had a taste of the real deal. Oliver only touched him for a couple of minutes, only brought him to completion once but already the ghost of those fingers and that voice and those lips upon his neck are what he craves more than anything. But he can’t exactly go out and beg Oliver to touch him again. 

Nonetheless, that’s what he really wants and he finds himself becoming irrationally jealous over little things, like Oliver patting George on the back for a Bludger well directed, Oliver laughing at Alicia’s jokes, Oliver allowing Fred to throw his arm around his shoulder in what Harry knows is an amicable gesture. But it leaves him feeling distraught and rejected anyway. 

His jealousy reaches its boiling point one evening after practice. Fred took off with Angelina right after so that leaves Harry, Oliver and George alone in the showers. Harry finishes up in record time as it is excruciatingly painful to be in such close – and naked! – proximity to his Captain. He quickly dries off and gets dressed, surprised to see Wood hasn’t left the showers yet. The guy can shower in record time, he never spends more than two minutes in there. But today Harry is already dressed – and he’s the slowest person ever at getting himself dressed – and Oliver is still standing in the shower with George. 

He can hear snorts and giggles (that’s definitely George) and laughter and splashing coming from the shower and Harry is hit over the head with the stone cold realisation that George and Oliver are in the shower together, having fun. That can consists of anything but in his mind it translates himself to Oliver touching George. What else could explain the giggles and the long shower? 

By the time Oliver leaves the shower to get dressed, leaving George in there by himself, Harry is upset and angry and unfortunately there’s a reason people tell him he has a bad temper. 

“Did you have fun?” He hisses nastily at the older guy, knowing very well George can’t hear him all the way in the shower with the water running. 

“Euhm… I guess?” Oliver blinks stupidly at him. “Is something the matter?”

“No, what could possibly be wrong?!”

He might just have sounded believable if he hadn’t yelled it. George is probably still in an orgasm-induced coma to hear any of it. At least there’s one benefit to Oliver Wood bringing off all his team mates in the showers. 

Harry wanted their moment to have meant something but now he’s afraid it was just some rite of passage that for some reason he only found out about now. Did Wood wank off everyone? 

“Why are you upset, Harry?” Oliver frowns at him in concern. 

“Because… because…. You’re disgusting, you disgust me!”

That couldn’t be farther from the truth. The one Harry is disgusted by is himself, for being foolish enough to believe it had mattered as much to Oliver as it had to him. 

“I see,” Oliver narrows his eyes at him, anger boiling inside of them. “Do tell me what it is about me that appals you so.”

“You shouldn’t touch people when you don’t- you can’t just… At least I hope George enjoyed it!”

“Enjoyed it?” Oliver frowns again, staring at Harry as though he’s talking gibberish until all of a sudden something clears up in his face, like he just solved some difficult puzzle. “Did you think that I was doing something with him in the showers?”

“Obviously, you were!” Harry snaps at him. “I heard the noises.”

“What noises?”

“The laughing and giggling and you really should try and be more quiet.”

He’s one to talk. It’s only three days ago when Harry himself was crying out Oliver’s name like some wanton slut. 

“Clearly you’ve never seen George’s bit with the soap bar. It’s hilarious. Even he can’t keep a straight face during it,” Oliver says calmly. 

“What?” Harry stares at him in shock. 

“Harry,” He says softly. “Why did you think I was touching George?”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Help out teammates in the shower with certain… aches.”

He can’t believe he just said that but at least now it’s all in the open and they can no longer pretend that it never happened. He doesn’t want Oliver to forget about it. 

“Teammates in general, is it?” Oliver smiles at him, which definitely throws him off, though not as much as Wood approaching him does. 

“Well, yeah,” Harry shrugs helplessly. 

“Silly, silly boy,” Oliver smiles down fondly at him before pulling Harry close to him and pressing their lips together. 

The kiss takes him by complete surprise and before he can even think about becoming actively involved in the kissing, Oliver pulls back. Only to stare down at him with a very strange expression on his face that makes Harry feel like his chest is about to burst open with the overload of emotions, before giving him a quick peck on the lips again. And again. And again. And again. 

Harry has tried not to think too much about what his first kiss would be like, who it would be with. He’d hoped it might be someone he’d like as much as Oliver. Never once did he dare hope that it might actually be with Oliver himself. 

The kiss is not the fiery, passion-filled snog fest he had imagined it to be. Instead it is soft and fleeting but somehow, with Oliver stroking his face with one hand, while the other gently holds on to Harry’s waist and the intense looks he receives in between the feather-light kisses, this seems even more intimate than their moment in the shower had been.

“Harry,” Oliver whispers to him before pressing a final kiss on his lips. “There is but one teammate I want to touch. Only if he wants it too though.”

He wants to tell the older Gryffindor that he wants it. God, Merlin, he wants it so badly. It is all he thinks and dreams about. But Oliver has pulled away his hands and returns to the bench with all his stuff on. Three seconds later, George walks into the changing area, looking at the flushed Harry with confusion. Gone is the moment, but not the desires. Oh, no. Those have only taken even deeper roots. 

It’s another two days before there’s another training for the Gryffindor Quidditch team and during those days Harry has thought a lot about what Oliver said. He would touch Harry but only if Harry wants him to. Perhaps Oliver feels that he needs him to explicitly voice his consent. Maybe Oliver was worried that he had been taking advantage of him that time. Which is ridiculous because he had been a very willing participant and he’s hoping to be so again soon. 

He’s nervous, so freaking nervous with the prospect of telling Oliver how badly Harry wants him but after those fleeting kisses in the locker room last time, he’s confident he’s not barking up the wrong tree. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still shaking on his knees when they leave for the showers after today’s training. Harry told the twins that Ginny was going on a date right now so both boys didn’t waste any time, didn’t even bother to take a shower or change clothes, before they dashed off in the direction of the castle, leaving Harry and Oliver as the only male members of the team in the changing rooms.

Oliver barely seems to notice that there’s only two of them as he gets undressed and steps into the shower. Harry knows he needs to hurry as the older guy might already be finished by the time he gets his act together. He’s made up a plan, well, more like a desire put into action, to get the ball rolling between him and Oliver again.

Gingerly, Harry approaches the shower as well, with a towel still tied around his waist. Oliver is standing beneath the water jet, his eyes closed and his body completely relaxed. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous. How Oliver doesn’t have at least half as many admirers as Cedric Diggory does, Harry will never understand. He has the body of a greek God and in combination with the Scottish accent, Harry melts like ice in the sun. He’s glad other people don’t seem to see what he sees or he’d never even stand a chance. 

Oliver’s cock hangs limp between his legs, noticeably longer and thicker than Harry’s. He doesn’t know if Oliver had been aroused when he was bringing Harry to completion but he sure hopes to coax a hard-on out of him today.

He doesn’t quite know how to go about it, after all he’s never touched a penis before. He barely touches his own. That’s only been a recent development. But the idea of touching Oliver like that, and have Oliver moan the way he made Harry moan before, is enough to make Harry already half-hard. He’s definitely grateful for that towel even though he knows it won’t do much good when his dick goes into full erection. 

“Harry,” Oliver opens his eyes slowly to look at the young black-haired boy standing nervously in the entrance. 

“O-Oliver,” Harry stammers out, flailing a bit now that he has his Captain’s attention, even though that’s what he was aiming for. 

The older guy looks at him attentively, patiently. It makes Harry feel like it’s okay if it takes him a little longer to voice his thoughts and desires. He knows Oliver won’t think less of him because of it. 

“I want to apologise,” He softly speaks, carefully approaching the older boy as though he’s afraid the other will leave if he crosses the space too quickly. 

“For what?” Oliver frowns. 

“For yelling at you last time,” Harry blushes. He’s so very ashamed of the way he reacted. “I’m not disgusted by you, at all.”

“That’s good to know,” Oliver smiles warmly and Harry wants to reach out and touch that smile. 

“I just got-“

“Got what?” Oliver stares intensely at him as he approaches the Scottish guy. 

“Jealous,” Harry whispers, loud enough for the other one to hear, but he doesn’t wait for a reaction.

Instead, he reaches out his hand to grab a hold of Oliver’s limp cock. He doesn’t know the right amount of pressure he’s supposed to apply but he’s guessing he did it wrong when Oliver jumps out of his reach with a pained cry. 

“I’m sorry,” He quickly says. “I just wanted to… I thought I’d-“

“Harry.” The younger boy looks up when his name is spoken so softly and is surprised to see Oliver blushing almost as severely as him. “Last time…. You don’t have to reciprocate. You shouldn’t-“

“But I want to,” He quickly says when it sounds like Oliver won’t let him touch him. 

Harry wants it so badly, he’ll crumble if Oliver denies him the simple pleasure of trying to pleasure the Keeper. Besides, even though it was only a for a second, Oliver’s cock felt really good in his hand. He wants to feel it again. 

“Oh,” The older Gryffindor stares at him dumbly, clearly not having expected this. “You do?”

“Yes.” Harry licks his lips unconsciously but Oliver notices. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Oliver can’t see any kind of doubt or fear in Harry’s eyes. All he’s sees is the pure lust and desire that is apparently directed towards him. Well, alright then. 

“Okay,” Wood lets out a deep breath. “Don’t grip it like it’s a broom though.”

“Sorry,” Harry flushes again. “I’ve never really…”

He doesn’t have to say what he’s never really done. Oliver understands all too well. He approaches the younger boy who stares up at him with big, begging eyes, probably not even realising he’s doing it. He grabs Harry’s hand and guides it back towards his cock. 

“Be gentle about it, but firm,” Oliver closes his own hand around Harry’s, which is closed around his cock. “Like you would if you were wanking yourself.”

“O-okay,” Harry nods, all the while not taking his eyes of his hand touching Oliver so intimately, like Oliver had touched him almost a month ago. 

He remains silent for the rest as he moves his hand back and forth over Oliver’s dick, gentle but firm, just like he was told. He tries to pick up the pace a bit and listens to Oliver’s instructions. 

“A little faster, Harry. Yeah, like that. Now, try twisting your wrist a bit as you go back down. Oh, yesss. Just like that.”

Oliver’s talking to him and it’s so damn bloody sexy with the accent and him being slightly out of breath. Harry doesn’t think he’s hurting him this time if the rock-hard penis in his hand is any indication. 

“Like that?” Harry asks the older guy if he’s doing okay.

“Yeah, that’s good. It’s really good, Harry,” Oliver pants before pulling Harry flush against him, leaving little space for Harry’s hand to continue up and down his shaft but he still manages. 

Oliver lets out this bone-thrilling moan while basically panting into Harry’s mouth. It’s not really a kiss but fuck, it is hot. 

During the kiss, Oliver’s free hand has travelled down Harry’s body, tweaking his nipples on the way, until it wraps itself around Harry’s shaft and starts tugging in the same rhythm as he does on Oliver’s cock. 

It’s fucking intense, beating each other off and kissing each other breathless while being so impossibly close and have Oliver moan much more vocally than last time. Then he had been all business and focused. Now, he’s all over the place. It makes Harry think he should have reciprocated much, much sooner because a begging Oliver is hot as hell. 

“Faster, Harry. Please go faster.”

Now who could deny him that? Certainly not Harry. He ignores the pain in his wrist from the odd angle his hand has to make now that they’re so close to one another but it’s well worth the discomfort. Oliver’s hand moving on Harry’s dick just as fast makes it more than worth it. 

Harry’s been dreaming off this opportunity for weeks now, desiring those hands back on his body more than he’s ever wanted anything. Now that he’s exactly where he wants to be, his inexperienced body betrays him.

“O-oliver,” He pants, moaning once more before dropping his head against the older boy’s shoulder. “I… I’m close.”

“Me too,” Oliver groans. “Merlin, Harry, me too. Come with me, Harry.”

He needn’t say it twice. Shouting out Oliver’s name, he feels his orgasm explode in his underbelly, coating the other guy’s finger with his cum. It’s intense and overwhelming but somehow he still manages to jerk Oliver to completion as well. 

“Fuck, Harry. Fuck!” The older boy wails before exploding as well, coming all over Harry’s hand and chest now that they’re so close together. 

Oliver slumps against the wall behind him, dragging the smaller boy with him, still trying to catch his breath from the mind-blowing orgasm he just suffered through. Well, suffered might not be the right word. 

Now that the Quidditch Captain’s hands are no longer feverishly moving up and down Harry length, they wander over the younger boy’s back. One even goes down far enough to give Harry’s arse a playful squeeze. 

“We should take shared showers more often,” Harry whispers into Oliver’s skin. 

“Yeah,” He laughs breathlessly, pressing his Seeker even closer to his chest. “We really should.”


End file.
